Page 3 of Her Beast of a Duke
Her hands shook right as her father picked up the note that fluttered to the floor.
Stanton’s voice was too monotonous for the note, and it only infuriated Isabella further as she fought to tamp down every reaction.
Do not show it. This is not who you are. Fix your mask in place, smile, pretend all is well. Above all, present yourself as you wish to be seen.
And that was not as a lady who unraveled.
The noise her mother made finally had Isabella turning around.
She was right on time to see her mother faint. Charles quickly caught Lady Wickleby, grimacing at the theatrics, while Isabella and Hermia’s father let the infernal note fall to the floor again, before slapping at the air in a futile attempt to revive his wife.
“This cannot be right,” her father muttered, pacing the short length of the room. “He cannot do this.”
“He can.” Isabella didn’t recognize her own voice, not as she saw faces peering into the doorway of the room, eyes wide at finding Lady Wickleby unconscious in her son-in-law’s arms.
Quickly, their curiosity turned to Isabella.
And then the whispers began.
“I did wonder why there was no groom at the altar…”
“…such a pretty bride to be jilted…”
“We do not know she has been left?—”
“Of course we do! There is no groom.”
“Do you think Lord Stanton found…”
Isabella turned her attention away as they speculated on the depths of Lord Stanton’s betrayal; he was clearly a guilty man fleeing the marriage he did not want.
Some guests rushed in under the guise of helping Isabella’s mother come back to consciousness, but she saw how they looked toward the note.
Discreetly, Hermia placed her slipper over it, blocking it from prying eyes. Isabella fought down the wave of sickness that tore through her as she felt the stares.
So many stares.
She had not realized she had walked out into the main church again until she felt the pinpricks of too many gazes fixed on her.
Such a pretty bride…
They all weighed on her, every nosy look from every guest.
“Lady Isabella, are you all right?”
Isabella’s smile was already pulling at her mouth, tugging into place, as she nodded. It was all she knew how to do. A pretty smile was everything. People believed that. But then another person came forward, another concerned pull of brows, another guest reaching for her as if she wished to be embraced.
“Lady Isabella, I am deeply…”
More voices faded in and out, spinning in a cacophony ofnoise, and it all crammed into Isabella’s head. She could barely breathe or think her own thoughts.
A pretty bride, a pretty bride.
I cannot love you.
A grave mistake…
“No,” she whispered harshly to herself. “No.”
